


Miracle hour at The Magpie

by localfreak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Clive the seagull, Gen, Immortals on holiday, POV Outsider, Whitby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23342377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localfreak/pseuds/localfreak
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale on holiday. You can't visit Whitby without fish and chips from The Magpie.Silly.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 61





	Miracle hour at The Magpie

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing my "whilst most of us can't leave our homes, our fandoms can travel" theme in placing Crowley and Aziraphale in every place I've ever been.

Clive knew his place in the world, and it was the best place to be. He had a reputation as one of the toughest, meanest, fattest gulls in the flock and his enormous bulk ensured no one fancied challenging him on the matter. 

It was a cushy number, being a seagull on the roof of The Magpie (as if a magpie would have a chance around here). Plenty of food, plenty of good sea air, plenty of stupid tourists milling about the place, reduced to ducking and screaming with a few flaps of a giant wing and shouts from a sharp beak. 

Or…that was what usually happened. 

Clive, starting to feel a little peckish, peered down with his yellow eyes at the couple below. Humans looked mostly the same to him, but these two stood out. Not because one was tall and dressed in black and the other shorter all in white. Not even because the taller one was wearing dark glasses on a grey, drizzly day- that, actually, was all pretty normal for Whitby, even though it wasn’t October. 

No, it was what the shorter one was holding. A whole, white, grease-spotted parcel straight from The Magpie. 

And instead of walking in a nervous hurry to a car, or some other bench away from the edge of the water, or trying to hide under the whale-bone arch they were _standing by the railings_ looking down at the water below, seemingly oblivious to the danger they were in.

Clive rustled his feathers, an anticipatory gleam in his eyes. _Fresh meat._

The shorter one unwrapped the parcel, paper flapping in the breeze. Clive fanned out his feathers, menacingly. The crisp end of a battered fish came into sight as the person broke off a corner and took a bite.

The air was ominous with the sound of keening cries and flapping wings. Clive let out a shout of his own and dove….

Only to find himself bobbing confusedly in the water below. He let out a confused cry and beat his wings hard to gain altitude. In his absence the other gulls would have taken over he knew- his voice had only heralded the charge.

The two people were still at the rail. The one in black lounged, back to the railing, talking over some point and gesticulating wildly with one arm. The other nodded along, taking another chip from the still-hot paper and blowing on it delicately before bringing it to his mouth.  
Where were the other gulls? Clive paused, confused. 

They were all over by the arch. Every single gull was sitting or hovering on the arch or walking underneath it. 

Walking. 

Not strutting. 

It was as if the confidence of their territorial power had mysteriously deserted them. 

More chips for him, then. Clive readied himself for another go. He had a reputation to maintain. These tourists couldn’t just _stand there_ eating chips outside The Magpie. That way led to the total destruction of generations of seagull-enforced status quo!

Clive flew on to the railing, just a little further long. It would be easy enough to- 

To-

What was he doing again? 

Clive, tucked his head beneath his wing a little and fell, quietly asleep. 

Slowly, nervously, glancing around in amazement, humans began to return from their huddled corners. Children skipped along in bulky coats and wooly hats licking ice creams. Dogs on leads ate scraps of batter from families sitting on the benches eating fish and chips. The scent of vinegar waved along the coastline along with the sound of laughter. 

The staff from the various fish-restaurants and chip-shops peered through the windows in amazement. 

Aziraphale finished off the last of his chips and put the paper in a bin. “It suddenly seems to have got quite busy again, Crowley. Do you fancy a stroll through the town?”

Crowley smirked, linking his arm in Aziraphale’s. “Certainly, Angel.” 

He cast a speaking glance at the gulls, who stared back nervous and unblinking. Crowley winked behind his dark glasses as they passed the arch. “As you were then,” he told them.

As Aziraphale and Crowley turned the corner, the cries of gulls and humans reached new heights, and Crowley hid a grin. Perhaps a trip to the coast wasn’t such a bad way to spend the day after all.


End file.
